Every morning she walked her dog
Each afternoon, and after dinner
So when they said she looked frail
I wondered

At the funeral home she lay
Reposed in her silken shroud
Her bony fingers clenched
As if urging death’s bridle
To yield its claim

Master no longer
Of her earthly domain
I wondered
If at heaven’s gate
Awaits, some unworldly travel
With many celestial orbs to pass
With wings and chariot as bearers
To bode the rebirth of her
New lightened load

Now, a communion of creatures,
Carry her on an everlasting journey
So into the morning, or late afternoon
Or after dinner, if I choose
I can see her
Walking her dog thru eternity’s grove
Wind to her back
And a new lightened load

Poverty is a lonely place
Cold, lazy rooms
With no doors
Only jutting spears of
Rampaging light
Rushing through naked
Windows
Reveal a panorama of
Spectacular poorness
Like a poison with no antidote
Children quench themselves
Until their bellies ache and bloat
Being poor is their only diet
Being poor is their silent sorrow
Sorrow…shame…
Sorrow…shame…